Winterverse
by MaySoFarAway
Summary: A collection of short stories, all taking place in the AU-verse of Loon In Winter. Rating does not apply to all. Romance, Horror, Death Eaters, Werewolves, and a plethora of all your favorite characters.
1. Exit

Welcome! Here are some ficlets, in the AU Verse of my fics A Captive Path/Loon In Winter. Mostly, these are moments outside of the plot of that story. Some will be happy, some will be sad, some smutty, some horrifying. This one fits the latter description. This one is short and violent. You've been warned.

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He went deeper into black,

Deeper into white,

Could see the stars shining

Like nails in the night

He felt the healing,

Healing, healing

Healing hands of love like the stars

Shining shining from above

Hand in the pocket,

Finger on the steel,

The pistol weighed heavy

His heart he could feel

Was beating, beating,

Beating, beating oh my love

Oh my love

Oh my love…

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Exit

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by May

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Zacharias Smith was leaning against the side of the carriage, watching the docks under the moonlight. Far out on the ocean, he could just barely make out the pin-prick of light bobbing around on the water. The boat carrying their cargo was drawing nearer. Zach shifted his weight from one foot to the other, taking a drag of the cigarette in his fingers. From the top of the carriage, he could sense Sturgis watching him. He could even sense the frown on the older man's face. Living long enough in close quarters with someone will give one those sorts of abilities.

"Since when did you start smoking?" Sturgis asked. Looking up at his girlfriend's stepfather in the semi-darkness, Zach shrugged.

"Grabbed a pack out of a muggle shop a while back," He said by way of explanation, "They're good for nerves."

"I catch you smoking around my son, there'll be hell to pay." Sturgis grumbled. Zacharias rolled his eyes, out of habit, but had to hand it to the bloke, at least he never tried to tell Zach what to do…or what not to do, as it were. Sturgis Podmore treated him like the legal adult that he was, which was more than Zach could say for most people. He looked out at the ocean again. The light was getting closer.

His eyes were drawn then to the tall, thin figure who was standing apart from them, closer to the actual dock. Bianca had insisted on being here, though Zach couldn't fathom why. She said Antonin had sent her a letter, asking her to be there, but that wasn't much of an explanation. From what he'd observed, the younger girl feared and hated the man as much as the rest of them did…probably more, though right now, the angry young man found it hard to believe. Watching her only made him angrier, too.

She was only seventeen, but her eyes were as wide and haunted as Alice Longbottom's. There were dark circles under those eyes, and faint scars still marred the flesh under her robes. Bianca spoke in disjointed sentences, her thoughts never really coming together anymore. She had always been rather child-like in school, but after the abuse Antonin had subjected her to, talking to her now was much like talking to a little girl, one who did not like to be touched, and that was when she was having a good day. A good day for Bianca was one during which she could retreat back to her world of dolls and tea parties. Today was not one of those days. She wrapped her arms around herself, her fingernails digging into her arms, the wind blowing back her cowl, catching her long, scraggly red hair.

Zach felt that anger growing inside of him as he observed her, hot and boiling in his chest. But it wasn't simply for her sake. It was because Bianca represented what Megan had almost become. Back when they were still in school, Antonin Dolohov had kidnapped her and then been forced to return her, her memory wiped of everything that had happened. But that was a torture in and of itself, the not knowing. A medical examination had only been able to assure her of so much, and Antonin had tortured her from afar with half-truths and taunting and attempts to capture her again.

What had he really done to Megan? Perhaps they would never know. What were the possibilities, though? Bianca embodied all of them. Raped. Beaten on a regular basis. Hexed for Antonin's amusement. Chained to a wall in his basement, when he wasn't using her. Three other girls had endured the same treatment before Bianca, and all three of them had died. The only reason Bianca had survived was because the war had ended, and her captor had been captured before he'd finished with her. Zacharias tossed his cigarette on the ground, grinding it into the cobblestones with unnecessary force.

It could have been Megan.

It may have been Megan.

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"They're pulling in," Sturgis' voice broke into Zach's ponderings, and the young man started, looking back towards the dock. A rope was being tied off, as two of the boat's occupants disembarked. Sturgis jumped down from the carriage, and Zach followed him to the dock, just as the two guards from Azkaban were pulling their prisoner onto the landing.

"Evening, Podmore," Kingsley greeted Sturgis quietly, and the two men exchanged pleasantries. But Zacharias only had eyes for the tall man standing before him, bound in a straight-jacket and leg-irons. Antonin Dolohov met his gaze, his own eyes blazing and cruel. He wasn't in good shape, Zach noted with pleasure. Antonin was missing an arm, his face was deeply scarred, and if what Zack had heard was true, he'd sustained massive internal injuries during the battle for London. Zach couldn't help the small, cold smirk that crossed his features.

"Where's the girl?" Antonin rasped, looking over Zach's shoulder. Bianca stepped toward them, and Zach almost moved to stop her before she got too close, but she didn't. She stayed just within easy hearing range, but came no further. Antonin glared at her, noting her empty-handed state. "I told you to bring my son!"

"Andrei is my son now," Bianca informed him, her voice small and wavering, but clear. Her arms stayed crossed, her hands still clutching her arms, but she met the Death Eater's eyes steadily. "The Ministry has given him to me, as long as I stay with others. He is mine," A rather delirious giggle left her lips, "Mine mine mine, my boy-child-doll-thing…" Antonin growled, but Bianca went on, as if she hadn't heard him, "I came here to tell you that. And that you will never see him ever again," A lop-sided grin spread over her mouth at that, "Never ever ever. I win, Mister Monster Man…"

She backed away, as Kingsley took his leave, leaving Sturgis and Zacharias in charge of the prisoner. Zach looked behind him as they led the Death Eater away, to see Bianca smiling at him as she apparated back home. Well, if Crazyface could face down her demon…

"I'll ride inside," Zach said firmly, his voice emotionless. Sturgis glanced at him sideways, as he opened the carriage door and shoved Antonin inside.

"You sure?" The older man asked seriously. Zach nodded once, not tearing his eyes away from the prisoner who sat seething in the carriage. Sturgis said no more, only climbed up into the drivers seat, waiting until Zach was inside before urging the Thestrals forward.

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"How kind of you to keep me company, Zacharias," Antonin said, lightly, "It has been so long since we've had a chance to catch up."

"I'm not talking to you," Zach replied, darkly, keeping his eyes on the countryside passing them by. Antonin did not pursue the matter, at least not at that moment. The Death Eater was deadly silent, in fact, the only sound his breathing, his eyes practically burning a hole in the carriage side, over Zach's shoulder. Clearly, Antonin was still seething over Bianca's betrayal. As if he could have expected anything else from a girl he'd so viciously abused.

In the silence, Zacharias found himself thinking back to the brief time when he himself had been Antonin's prisoner. Certainly a different kind of experience than Bianca or Megan's, that was certain, but harrowing nonetheless. Antonin had caught him unawares in London, and, using him as leverage to make Megan hand herself over, had proceeded to torture Zacharias through a few rounds of crucio, and a few broken fingers. Zach absently flexed his fingers in the moonlight, at the memory. His friends had rescued him that time, but it had been close. Both he and the girl he loved could have ended up dying painful, excruciatingly slow deaths.

Zach glared into the night, that burning feeling returning once more. How did a human being do that, to another human being? He glanced back at Antonin, at the twisted, hallow man in front of him with blazing eyes, thinking of all the ways he'd like to make the man hurt. Zach huffed, shaking his head and reaching for the pack in his pocket again. At that gesture, Antonin seemed to snap out of his trance, watching the young man with interest.

"That is a nasty habit, you know," Antonin informed him airily, "It will kill you. At least I would have done so more quickly."

"And painfully," Zach glared, "Shut your fucking mouth."

"And you kiss her with those lips?" Antonin sneered, "Lips that taste of nicotine and obscenities, oh I can see why little red preferred you to me, utterly."

"I said," Zach had his wand trained on his prisoner in half a moment's time, speaking through clenched teeth, "Shut up."

"Oh come off it," Antonin sighed, "You've not the stomach to hex me." Zach was silent though, turning his glare back out the window as the landscape continued to rush past them. It was a remote area, far outside of London. There were certainly faster ways between Azkaban and The Ministry, but all of them offered far too many chances for a wizard prisoner to escape. Transport of prisoners was done the old-fashioned, non-magical way. Both Zacharias and Antonin knew that meant they would be suffering each other for quite a while yet.

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"You know…" Antonin began again, after a good half hour. Zach did not look away from the window. "If I am locked away forever…(or perhaps even sentenced to death, who can know how things have changed)…you will never know for sure, will you?" Zach knew he was being bated, but even as his anger simmered, he did not rise. Not yet. Antonin did not wait. "You'll always be wondering. And so will she, for the rest of your lives. Haunting her dreams, standing in the way of your intimacy…" A slow smile spread over Antonin's cruelly twisted mouth, "There will be me."

Zach couldn't contain himself. He finally turned, looking the man in the eye, a torrent of emotions fighting for supremacy in his own eyes. Anger. Revulsion. Fear. He took a deep breath, "What did you do to her?"

"My secret, to keep until I die." Antonin sat back with a satisfied smirk. "Give me at least that much pleasure before I meet my doom."

Zach's face twisted with fury_. __Pleasure_. His teeth grinding together for a moment, Zach called out, tapping the side of the carriage, "Sturgis!" He called, "Stop here!"

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They stopped by an old shack on side of the road, surrounded by trees. Up the hill from the road there was a rather large house, and the shack must have been where the owners had kept their firewood. The house, of course, was silent and dark now, the shack and the grounds long-deserted ever since Voldemort's campaign. Sturgis steadied the Thestrals, then hopped down to the ground just as Zacharias was dragging Antonin out of the carriage.

"Give me your wand, Zach," Sturgis said firmly. Zach turned on him, fuming and looking ready to fight Megan's stepfather if he got in the way, but Sturgis only went on, calmly, "If anyone finds any curses on your wand that, legally, shouldn't be there, it won't go well for you in court."

Zach paused, knowing Sturgis was right. Swallowing, and still keeping a steady hold on the buckles of Antonin's straight-jacket, he handed Sturgis his wand. The older man pocketed the item. He didn't say anything more, only gave Zach a long, hard stare, before turning, walking around the carriage and leaning against the side that faced away from the shack. Out of sight, and out of hearing.

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With Antonin laughing maniacally at his side, Zach strode toward the shack, around to the side hidden from the road. A space was cleared in the trees, in the center of which was placed a chopping block, an axe wedged into it. Zach shoved Antonin down on the ground, and without his remaining arm free to steady himself, The Death Eater hit the earth hard, the wind knocking out of him. "Stand up!" Zach shouted, pacing back and forth in front of the man with barely restrained hatred. With a great amount of effort, Antonin was able to push himself up, swaying on his feet as he did.

"Hardly a way to treat an injured man," He rasped, his breathing labored, but his eyes boring into Zacharias like heated knives. The younger man only surged forward, his fist connecting hard with Antonin's jaw. The Death Eater staggered back, blood spurting out of his mouth, along with two molars. Zach just shook his fist, feeling only a slight tingle of pain through the adrenaline.

"Tell me what you did!" He shouted again, as Antonin spit out the blood pooling in his mouth. The Death Eater grinned, a ghastly sight with the blood that was now running down his chin.

"Everything, and nothing," Antonin replied cheerily, his voice graveled. Zach's knee connected with his groin, hard, and the Death Eater doubled over.

"TELL ME!" Zach yelled, kicking the other man in the side a few times for good measure, before hauling him upright by his black hair, throwing another few punches to connect with his nose and jaw, only pausing when he heard Antonin's nose break.

"I wonder," Antonin labored to breathe, forced to his knees in the clearing. His face was starting to swell, blood was pouring from his nose and mouth, and he was nursing more than a few broken ribs. "Is this only for her? Or are you really that upset over a few broken fingers?"

Zacharias was beyond the point of rational thought, however. He'd fully embraced the burning furnace in his heart, and his only response to Antonin's suggestion that this was anything less than revenge for Megan and any other girl the man had hurt only spurred him further. That the Death Eater's words might have struck a chord was not a thought Zach cared to entertain. He only dove in for another round, viciously pounding his fists into Antonin's face and stomach.

When the man was hardly able to breath any longer for all the blood that was filling his mouth and lungs, Zacharias dragged him to the chopping block without even stopping to consider what, exactly, he was doing. "You…" Antonin struggled with the words, his voice entirely unrecognizable now, with many teeth missing, blood choking his throat and his nose completely crushed, "What does this make you, then?" He grinned, or at least managed a grotesque parody of a grin.

"Shut up!" Zach yelled, paths on his face now where hot tears of elated rage had fallen and dried. Antonin coughed on a laugh, watching the boy yank the axe out of the block. The blade had a little rust on it in places, but it was still sharp.

"Why?" Antonin shrugged, and then coughed, blood spattering over the chopping block as he did. "I'll die a monster, the monster I made myself to be," He wheezed, as Zach hesitated, hefting the weight of the axe in his hands, "What sort of monster will little Zachy Smith go home as tonight, hmm?"

Zacharias Smith stared out into the trees, the inferno inside of him as hot as ever, though his moral half did manage to war with it, if only for a moment. The boy looked down at his knuckles. They were cracked and bloody, and shards of bone were stuck in one or two places, into his flesh. Zach licked his lips, turning his wrathful eye back to Antonin, who lay there on the block, grinning up at him like some wretched, wicked fool. Zach hardly recognized his own voice, low and dark and nearly void of any human warmth whatsoever, "What did you do to her?"

Antonin took a deep breath, looking up at his executioner. Then he let it out in a sigh, reclining back against the block, staring up at the night sky thoughtfully. "Nothing." He said at last, "I hardly got to touch her." Stunned, Zach stared down at the man, and Antonin took that moment to look back up at his face, grinning through his blood and bone, "Tell her I said goodbye."

The furnace blazed. Zacharias brought the axe head down with all the primal rage that dwelt within him. And then he brought it down a few times more, for good measure.

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Sturgis said nothing, when he returned. Zach knew he was covered in blood, almost none of it his own, but he said nothing back. The two men simply looked at each other for a long time, before Sturgis handed him back his wand, turned, and climbed back into the driver's seat. Zach said a quick cleaning spell over himself, the strongest one he knew, before climbing into the carriage himself. The transport started moving, and Zach slumped back in his seat, feeling suddenly boneless. The fire had burnt itself out, and now he felt as if he were only full of ashes. Ashes and smoke, clouding up his innards. He pulled out that pack of cigarettes, looked at it for a long minute, and then tossed it out the carriage window. Antonin Dolohov was dead. And Zacharias was going home to Megan…

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands as convulsions shook his body, nerves and aftershock and oh Merlin what the hell had he just done?!

The man would never hurt anyone ever again.

But what the hell had he just done?

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~ Fin

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**Author's Notes: **Well! Now that the violence is out of the way...you can look forward to more Snape/Luna, Werewolves, Death Eaters, and other bits in the entries to come :)


	2. Safe & Sound

I meant to write Luna/Sev next but, then this tiny moment happened. Short, sweet, angsty, friendship.

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I don't blame you for quitting

I know you really tried

If only you could hang on through the night

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Cause I don't want to be lonely

I don't want to be scared

And all our friends are waiting there

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Until you're safe and sound

Until you're safe and sound

There's beauty in release

There's no one left to please but you and me…

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Safe & Sound

By May

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The sounds haunted her dreams, most nights. The snorting and heavy breathing, the scuffles of paws on dry ground, even the smell seemed like something tangible, all sweat and earth and slobber and rotting meat in rotting teeth and claws and blood. And the howling, always the howling, ringing in her ears until long after she'd woken up screaming from her nightmares. It was a torment, now that she wasn't letting herself slip into her other personality, into the personality that had been Fenrir's mate. She was Sophie. She wasn't Felia, not now that Fenrir was locked away in Azkaban. She was Sophie and that was good, she needed to learn how to be Sophie again. But Sophie was hurting, Sophie was broken, Sophie had nightmares.

She was always there too, though, when Sophie woke up. The ghost had followed her here, had followed her to the shelter. After all, a ghost was the best friend a werewolf could have. Even during a full moon, she was in no danger. The ghost had died in the war, and thus, hated the other girls in the house Sophie lived in, the girls who hadn't fought back. But Ginny Weasley had been firm, if the ghost didn't behave and stop haunting the others, she'd have her exorcised, and what help would she be to Sophie then? And so the ghost kept quiet, drifting around the halls, humming old muggle pop songs to herself. Until she heard Sophie screaming.

"Sophie," the ghost of Mel Spinks would hover by the werewolf's bed, wishing she could put her arms around her best friend from school. But Sophie did not mind that Mel was intangible, not one bit. Crying in the dark, Mel was the only person Sophie wanted to see in the world.

"Melly-Mel," Sophie sniffed, wrapping her arms around her knees, looking up at the forever perfect, blonde, and young image of her friend, forever wearing her Hogwarts uniform. She was starting to remember again, what it had been like when they were schoolgirls. The way they had fancied boys and pop stars, their short-lived matchmaking service, the way they'd always been the most fashionable girls in Hogwarts. The werewolf cracked a little smile, the scars on her face not so obvious when she did. "You look mervy-fab."

"Always will!" The ghost said brightly, forcing a smile back, "Kind of a rub being stuck in a uni for the rest of time though."

"Ha," Sophie rubbed her wet eyes, pushing back her short brown hair. It had always been long before, but after she'd been rescued from the pack, feral and unwashed after being on the run with Fenrir, they'd had to cut the rat's nest. It grew back slowly. "One up on you, I can change my shoes whenever I want to."

"Ugh, show off," Mel rolled her eyes, making Sophie giggle. Mel smiled true at that sound. Sophie's smile faded.

"It's so hard, Melly-Mel…" She sobbed.

"I know," The girl who would be eighteen forever choked on a sob as well, reaching out, even though she knew that Sophie wouldn't feel anything other than the cold air of what she was. "But you've gotta get better, yeah? It'll take a long time, but," Mel swallowed, "You've gotta live for both of us, bestie. You can do that now."

"I'm trying…and trying to forget him…" Sophie swallowed another onslaught of tears, "What if he comes back for me…?"

"He won't." Mel growled, suddenly looking every bit the ghost that she was, her eyes flashing, "I haunt him in my free time," She smirked, "He's going insane. Just for you!"

Sophie giggled again, holding out one hand. Mel reached out as well, her own hand hovering over her best friend's warm palm. The werewolf didn't mind the cold at all. It was as close as she could get to Mel, and she treasured it. "Promise you won't ever leave me, Mel…"

"I won't ever," Mel's ghostly voice answered the question Sophie asked every night. "Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever." The white trace of ghost-tears rolled down Mel's white, transparent face, "Not until you're better."

"Never ever…" The werewolf girl laid back on her bed, calmer sleep taking her now, as the ghost girl kept watch over her.

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~ Fin

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**Author's Notes: **Lurve!


	3. Red Right Ankle

After two doses of angst, here's a nice soft G-rated moment :) Luna/Severus.

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This is the story of your gypsy uncle

You never knew cause he was dead

And how his face was carved an ripped with wrinkles

In the picture in your head

And remember how you found the key

To his hide-out in the Pyrenees,

But you wanted to keep his secret safe,

So you threw the key away?

This is the story of your gypsy uncle…

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Red Right Ankle

By May

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Mother and daughter were sitting on the grass under the evening sky, watching as one by one the stars above stepped out into the summer twilight. Rodmilla Nott was growing known for looking shockingly like her mother, even at three years old. She resembled Luna in miniature, a tiny copy, or extension of the young woman. Of course, Severus knew that time would give his stepdaughter her own identity, as well as physicality. Indeed, if one looked a little closer at Milla, they would note that eventually she would have Theodore's nose and jaw line, as her features matured. But for now she was all her mother's daughter, sitting in Luna's lap, the both of them dressed in white, her mother's long pale hair mixing with Rodmilla's own soft curls that were only a shade or two darker.

From his place seated on the vast veranda of his wife's home, wearing his waistcoat and shirt-sleeves in the warm summer night air, Severus idly observed the two of them, the book in his lap momentarily forgotten. Rodmilla had awoken from nightmares early in the evening, and to calm her, Luna had brought her out on the lawn and proceeded to entertain her child with stories about the sky above.

"That one there is Merlin's Star," Luna's drifty voice wafted over the property, in the still night air, "Your great-uncle Lysander Lovegood once built a Zeppelin, in an attempt to reach the alien wizards who supposedly live on the planets orbiting it," Luna smiled a little at the toddler's wide eyes, "He only got as far as Sweden, I am afraid. But while he was there, he did drop in on your great-grandmother, who suggested he travel the world in his fine piece of magical engineering."

"Did he see Snorkacks?" Rodmilla asked, her vocabulary slightly advanced for a three-year-old, but Severus was hardly surprised. Her parents were both brilliant. But of course, she processed information as any small child would, especially a child raised by Luna Lovegood. The word Sweden was automatically associated with Snorkacks in her mind. Luna grinned.

"That's the rumor!" She whispered conspiratorially. "They granted him good luck on his many travels. He visited Faerie queens and muggle gypsies and followed Froople migration patterns all the way back to this very house…"

"Tell me about the Faerie queens," Rodmilla asked sleepily, leaning back against her mother's chest. Luna reached down to play with her daughter's golden brown hair, spinning it around her fingers.

"The Faerie queens live in every forest, in every field of flowers," Luna spoke softly, her dreamy voice an even cadence. "You can hunt them in the summertime, around full moons and when the seasons change. The queen of all the queens is Lady Mab, who lives in a palace of thorns and roses and lavender." Rodmilla's eyelids were drooping, and Luna kissed the top of her head, "Mab rides through your dreams, revealing what is true and unseen. And when you wake, you will be sure of what is really there, even if others do not see the same…"

Seeing that her child was now asleep, Luna smiled, waiting a few moments more in the twilight and fireflies before rising. Rodmilla rested her head on her mother's shoulder as she carried her toward the house, baby fingers playing with her long hair. Luna smiled at Severus as she passed him, touching one finger to his closed lips before slipping into the house. Severus smirked to himself, his attention returning to his book as she went about tucking her daughter into bed.

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When she returned though, he set the book aside and drew her to sit across his knees, her head resting against his shoulder. "And so it begins," He murmured, "You filling her head with rubbish at an early age." It was said fondly, and Luna smiled, her large eyes drifting shut. "Before you know it she shall be thusly stuck between two worlds, one tangible and one entirely fanciful in nature, running after imaginary creatures."

"Would you expect anything different, from my offspring?" Luna asked him, her voice a gentle hum drifting by his ear. Severus considered that question.

"Actually, yes," He replied, sounding almost surprised at his own thoughts, "I was not sure if such fancy had served you well, in recent years." Luna opened her eyes, tilting her face enough to look at his profile.

"I admit, my father nurtured in me a trifle too much eccentricity," She said, slowly. Severus snorted slightly, thinking that to be an understatement. Luna smacked his other shoulder playfully, "However," She went on, "It was out of loneliness. He missed my mother," Luna sighed, "He molded me into someone like her, so he would not be alone." She smiled again, then, "But I made it my own. How would I have gotten through the darkest moments of the past few years, without my faith in things unseen? That is what I want to culture in my children." She snuggled against him again, "Something they can make their own, someday."

"An understandable explanation," Severus replied after a moment, touching his chin thoughtfully as the darkness deepened around them. "But even so, are there not more sensible things to put one's faith in?" Luna looked up at him, confused by that logic. Severus looked down at her, eyebrows raised, "Snorkacks?" He said the word as if it tasted like something far too sugary to be properly edible. Luna grinned.

"Did you never believe in fables as a child, Severus Snape?" She asked. Severus only blinked.

"No." He said evenly, "I believed in facts and if I did read tales of adventure, they were from history books." Crickets chirped around them, punctuating the statement with whimsy, and Luna's smile did not falter.

"History is written by story-tellers," She yawned, "Your mother never read you bedtime stories?" Severus cleared his throat, trying to think up an escape from that particular topic, but realized that Luna's voice held only simple curiosity, nothing more. They'd had other, deeper conversations on the subject of his mother, of his parents, in the past. She brushed her fingers lightly over the buttons of his waistcoat.

"She did try, once or twice," He admitted, a wry smirk toying with the edges of his lips, "I kept interrupting her with logistical questions. She gave up. I was perhaps five or six years of age." Luna giggled, not at all surprised.

"Well at least I know now that you've always been this way," She replied, "But do such things always have to make sense? Fiction can be quite the effective tool for teaching truth. Allegory, fable…"

"Perhaps," Severus allowed, "But I never quite saw the point. If one meant to say something, can they not be straight-forward enough to say it plainly?"

"Perhaps," Luna nodded, slowly, "But not everyone retains a message in such a way. Some people enjoy finding hidden meanings in things unseen, in stories untrue." Severus only nodded in acknowledgment. Yes that might be so, but he was not among those 'some people'. Or so he though, Luna pondered.

A companionable silence came over them for a time. After a few moments in the darkness, Luna began to hum, and Severus found himself quite captivated by the sound, as always. Luna continued to dance her fingers around his buttons, contemplatively, before she spoke again, "Once upon a time," She sing-songed, and Severus raised an eyebrow. Luna only smiled, "In a far-away castle that was under an unfortunate enchantment, surrounded by lush rose gardens, there lived a most hideous and ferocious beast…" She paused, glancing up at him, a mischievous sparkle in her wide eyes, "Or should I say bat?"

"…Point taken," Severus sighed, and his wife giggled, standing up, taking his hand, and pulling him inside the house.

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~ Fin :D

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**Author's Notes: **I enjoy hot tea.


	4. Flightless Bird

Happy Thanksgiving :) A ficlet about one Quentin Quirke, and the girls important to him.

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Have I found you

Flightless bird, grounded,

bleeding or lost you,

American mouth

Big pill stuck going down…

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Flightless Bird

By May

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Quentin Quirke had always been a nice, selfless boy, something that didn't always happen with youngest children. He and his siblings had defied all of the prescribed birth order personality types, though. As the oldest, his brother Xander had been the raucous, rebellious one, up until his untimely end at the hands of Death Eaters. His middle sister Orla was the odd, outgoing and talkative one, the only one of them with the magical genes, and at the end of the short line there was Quentin. Even-tempered, good-natured, introverted Saint Quentin. Perhaps it was because he'd battled and survived cancer at such a young age, it made him grateful for his life, made him look on the bright side of things. Whatever it was, everyone who knew him agreed, Quentin Quirke was a great kid to have around.

He didn't live with his sister anymore, not since she'd moved in with Ginny Weasley. Orla was grateful to him, but she didn't want Quentin to feel responsible for her now that Rabastan was in prison, not when he was still only sixteen. And so he'd taken up with Michael Corner, the two roommates running a food point out of the ground floor of their apartment building. The rebuilding of London was going better than expected, but the world was still a place of ruins. Death Eaters had destroyed the economy, rebuilt it to Voldemort's design, and then that had very nearly been destroyed again in the third war. As such, various spots had been set up around the city by the Ministry, where survivors of the war could at least be guaranteed groceries until a more stable economy was in place. Fresh things were carted in from the countryside, along with whatever else non-perishable remained in the city.

Normally, Quentin was kept very busy at his job. He might have been a muggle and as such, limited in this magical world, but there was still plenty to do. Case in point: driving. He may not have had his license when Voldemort killed a third of the entire human population, but he understood how cars worked and as one of the few muggles still alive in London, that made him quite the rare being indeed. On this particular Saturday in early November Quentin was making deliveries, and his last of the day was to Ginny's.

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He pulled his van up between the two stone houses that evening, hauling out boxes of canned goods and fresh vegetables and stacking them by the back door.

"As reliable as the sunset, you are." Ginny proclaimed, standing in the door frame. Quentin just smiled cheerily, his mop of light brown hair mussed and his smile lop-sided.

"Gotta make sure you're feeding my big sister and all," He replied, stacking the last box of produce in the chilly air. "Got the new fridge all charmed yet?"

"Just about," Ginny nodded, "I'll be able to have these veggies nice and cold by tomorrow," She grinned, "Now go on in and see your family, Oubby's been asking where her uncle's been hiding out."

Parting with a dramatic bow, Quentin swept into the old house, looking around for a few moments to get his bearings. The two houses Ginny had procured were massive old estates, the kind his mum had once drooled over in decorating magezines. They were pretty enough he supposed, especially with all the warm, homey touches Ginny and the other girls had brought to them, but they were still a bit confusing to navigate. Soon enough though he found his sister in one of the many parlors, knitting by the fireplace. Oubliette was off somewhere playing with some new friend or another, while Antoine was fast asleep in his bunting by Orla's feet. Quentin stooped to kiss the sleeping infant, before kissing his sister on the cheek.

"You're early this week!" Orla noted with delight, and Quentin shrugged his lanky, teenage shoulders.

"Got all the rest done quick, I guess," He sat down on the floor in front of the fire, taking off his fingerless gloves and warming up his hands, "How's your week been?"

"Oh fine," Orla said lightly, returning to her knitting. She grinned, rather secretively. "The Ministry recently said that if anyone who was unable to finish their education before the war wished to take exams, they'd have a program set up for testing by spring time. I've got all the books together, so I can study properly for my NEWTs."

"Orla, that's wonderful!" Quentin exclaimed happily, "You can get your diploma after all!"

"I know!" She squealed, "And…well, it's not like there are any universities right now, aside from the one Voldemort founded, and that's currently closed. But there will be someday!" She said firmly. "I'm going to get as full an education as I can, and start making a difference, like everyone else."

"That's the Ravenclaw I know," Quentin grinned. He may not have ever gone to Hogwarts himself of course, but his sister was his best friend, and he knew all about it, about how much she had loved learning. She grinned back at him.

"Plus, you know," Orla sighed, "It's a good way to keep busy." Until Rabastan came back. In ten years. Quentin reached up and gave one of her hands a squeeze.

"Definitely." He nodded. Orla smiled at her little brother.

"And what have you been up to this week, kid?"

"Oh you know," Quentin replied lazily, "Daring adventures, death-defying feats, rummaging through the remains of human society in search of viable canned goods. Hunting with one of the last working muggle rifles. That sort of thing…"

"They're letting you use a GUN?!" Orla exclaimed, sitting up straight. Antoine whimpered in his sleep, and she quieted, though her rage stayed hot. "You're barely 16! Those things…shoot! And…hurt people!"

"Should I try my hand with a wand?" Quentin cracked, unaffected by her outburst. "Fresh meat is hard to come by, Orla. The Loyalists had farms set up, but that was to feed a much smaller population, THEIR population, certainly not our lot. Even with rationing, and food charms, we need as much as we can get."

"I know, I know," Orla sighed, "But couldn't they get someone older to do the…shooting guns part?"

"Plenty of people out hunting are older," Quentin shrugged, "I'm a muggle though, I know how triggers and levers work." He paused, tilting his head, "Who knew all that stuff in shop class would become so vital to my survival one day?"

"Oi, certainly not your teachers," Orla sat back, defeated. "Please tell me you're being careful?"

"Always!" Quentin assured her brightly. His sister was only half-way amused, but she let the subject go for the time being. They chattered aimlessly about this and that for a while, how his friends were, how he was getting on in a magical world, how her children were, and so on. After a while though, Antoine began to stir in his blankets, and Orla set aside her knitting.

"I'll need to feed him," She bent down to pick her baby up, moving toward the door heading for the kitchen, "You'll be about for a while?"

"Yup, don't have anywhere else to be." Her brother replied, and Orla moved on to fix her son a bottle. Quentin looked back at the fire for a while, adding a log and sitting back against Orla's abandoned chair. It was nice to be in the warm room, all cheery and full of books and blankets and a few scattered kids toys. He liked rooming with Michael Corner, but their flat had definitely become a guy's domain. Functional and messy and decidedly lacking in any kind of décor. This place felt like a home.

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"Hello, Quentin Quirk-a-werk," A disjointed voice greeted him in the warm glow of the fire and the lamps, and Quentin smiled at the familiar sound.

"Hello Bianca," Quentin replied to the tall, red-headed waif who was wandering into the room. He was quite used to the oddity that was Bianca Dunstan, former spouse and prisoner of Antonin Dolohov. She was two years older than him, newly eighteen, but whenever she was around Quentin felt as if he were talking to someone much younger. She even looked younger than she was, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, wearing a dress two sizes too big for her over jeans. She actually reminded Quentin of how Orla's friend Luna had once been…but there was a macabre undertone to Bianca's oddity that Luna didn't have, and they all knew where it had come from. "How are you today?"

"Oh, ya know," Bianca sing-songed in reply, sitting down across from him in front of the hearth. Close enough to talk, but not close enough to touch. Not that Quentin would try that anyway. "Planet's still spinning. Leaves change colors and fall off…" She trailed off, and then grinned, "Andrei has mastered the more difficult details of the loo!" Quentin laughed.

"Congratulations!" He said brightly, "I know that was a long and complicated battle."

"So very for me, imagine for him!" She sighed, "He is playing with his new little friends now. They are like little fairythings. All small and dressed in little doll clothes…" Her voice drifted off along with her thoughts, as she gazed into the fire, twirling her hair around her fingertips, and Quentin sighed. He knew it was more than trauma that had made Bianca the way she was, though that certainly hadn't helped. She'd also had her mind altered over and over again by various hexes, and no one knew quite how bad the damage was, or if it could be reversed. When she'd been rescued, she could barely string words together coherently, and had a terrible memory. Though she was certainly not dangerously altered (the Ministry wouldn't have let her near her stepson if that were the case), most still looked at her as a hopeless case, one they loved no less.

Quentin, however, thought he could see an improvement. Bianca was managing complete sentences, for one. And she was remembering things much better. The first dozen times she'd seen him, she hadn't remembered who he was at all. But now she was remembering conversations they'd had, and had even asked Orla in the past when he was going to be visiting. Those were all good signs, and Quentin wasn't going to give up on her.

"Speaking of dolls," He cleared his throat, knowing Michael would likely never let him live it down if he found out about this venture, but going forward anyway. Bianca turned her wide eyes back upon him, expectant, "You remember the last time I dropped by? What I promised you?"

Bianca frowned for a moment, tilting her head to the side. Then her lips spread in a dazzling smile, and Quentin couldn't help returning it. When she had genuine emotions, it was infectious, "You promised you would let me show you my paper dolls, the next time you came to visit."

"I did," He nodded, running a hand through his mop of hair, "And I'm here now!"

"So you are!" Bianca giggled delightedly, bounding over to the sofa nearby. She rummaged around underneath it for a few moments, before producing a small shoebox, which she carried back over to the fireplace. Bianca then proceeded to very carefully open the box, and place its various occupants gently on the carpeted floor. "This one is your sister." She said very seriously, indicating a paper maiden who'd been snipped from an old issue of Witch's Weekly, "I've made her the most darling little paper dresses!"

"Looks just like her," Quentin told Bianca earnestly, nodding at the paper doll with approval. Bianca's face lit up like the sun again, and Quentin was sure he could sit through all the child-like, frou-frou nonsense in the world if it produced that reaction in the abused, formerly-listless girl. Without realizing it, he'd made her his sister as well, and if there was one thing the young man had lots of experience with, it was looking after his sister. "Is that one Ginny?"

"Yes yes!" Bianca bounced a little on her knees, setting down the next red-headed paper person, "Like the paper people we all are, so easily swept up by wind and into flames! But we are pretty in our ephemeral states, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Quentin nodded, eyebrows lifting. He actually understood that. And agreed. "We really are…"

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A half-hour later Orla and Ginny stood just inside the doorframe, watching the two younger teenagers sit on the floor, playing with paper dolls. Ginny could only shake her head in disbelief, arms crossed. "Blimey," She whispered, "Your brother has really got a gift with people, you know that?"

"Yeah," Orla grinned, gently lifting Antoine onto her shoulder and patting him on the back for his after-dinner burping. "He really does. He's a good kid, that one."

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~ Fin

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**Author's Notes:** May your holiday-times be fabulous :)


	5. Extraordinary Machine

And now, a moment with Ginny and Bill.

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I am the baby of the family, it happens, so

Everybody cares and wears the sheeps' clothes

While they chaperone

Curious, you looking down your nose at me, while you appease

Courteous, to try and help - but let me set your

Mind at ease

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If there was a better way to go then it would find me

I can't help it, the road just rolls out behind me

Be kind to me, or treat me mean

I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine

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Extraordinary Machine

By May

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"You don't have to do this," Bill was telling her, "I mean, you don't have to prove anything to me."

"I know that," Ginny replied in a cheery tone, gingerly stepping through the broken window of the abandoned manor in Little Hangleton. "But you're wrong about that first bit. I do have to do this."

It was one of those rare days, after the final battle, when the two actually got to spend some quality time together. Bill was acting Minister for Magic, at least until they held a proper election the next year, and as such he was very often kept busy with the work of rebuilding the world. What free time he did have, he spent with his new wife Alicia Spinnet, though she was kept fairly busy helping to rebuild as well. Ginny didn't mind too much, she was endlessly proud of her big brother and exceedingly happy that he'd a little family of his own again, and someone to love. And she too had plenty to occupy her time. But somehow, they'd managed to get this task all to themselves, the former professional curse-breaker and his little sister, the girl who'd killed Voldemort once and for all. It was a good feeling, having a family outing. The task, however, was potentially miserable.

The ward of mist that Voldemort had conjured around his own private dwelling had dissipated the moment Ginny Weasley had struck him down with Harry Potter's wand. No one had been all that anxious to go near it though, not until now, five months after the fact, when Bill had realized that so many priceless Ministry artifacts and books and tools of government had been jealously secreted away by The Dark Lord. Just as his sister had once been.

"You know, I used to wonder why he kept me a secret for so long," Ginny noted in an overly-cheery tone, as they picked their way through the dusty mess. It really wasn't so hard though, at least, not as hard as she'd thought it would be, being back there. All the sunlight shining in through the broken windows made the difference. When she'd been there, the whole landscape had been under perpetual twilight, "Only letting one or two people know I was here, until the celebration. When you rescued me."

"I wondered that too," Bill admitted, wandering over to the long-cold fireplace in the Riddle parlor. He recognized a few antique Ministry tomes on the mantle, and grabbed them. "Snakeface wasn't exactly one for subtlety. He bragged about the spoils of his war all the damn time. But not a word about you." Bill shook his head, his eyes widening for a moment as they lit on a time-turner. He hastily snatched that as well. "I'm going to have to get a whole team in here," He shook his head, before going on, "But yes, even Severus didn't know for sure about you, and he'd been here while you were."

Ginny nodded, "Tom always made sure I was locked in one of the houses in the village, when he summoned someone here." She had paused, a hand on the high-backed, dark green arm chair that had been his favorite seat. She licked her lips, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "I saw Sna…Severus…walk by the window. He couldn't see in. I beat my hands against the glass until my knuckles bled." Her eyes shut tightly. Bill paused in his work, walking toward her, reaching out to touch her arm.

"Gin…" He said slowly, "Let me take you back, I can…"

"No!" Her eyes snapped open, an old Gryffindor fire burning up at him in her glare. "I need to be here, Bill." Her brother pulled back his hand, instead running it through his hair. "Now where was I…oh, right," She smirked, walking over to a crushed photograph on the floor. "Why he kept me a secret for so long. I figured that one out." She picked up the frame, eying Tom Riddle in his school robes. With an uttered spell and a wave of her wand, it was ash in her hand.

"Really?" Bill slowly returned to the task at hand, finding a few more odds and bobs on tables and shelves. There were bigger things too, he'd send some people later for those. Ginny nodded.

"It wasn't like he needed me, or that I was all that impressive on an item," She said, leading him into the next room, which was cluttered to high heavens with random treasures of every sort. Bill whistled. Priceless paintings were stacked against the walls. Sculptures and antiques and yes, even some gold in glass cases, clearly taken from museums. Ginny ignored all of this. She went straight for the broomstick propped up in the corner. "I hate this room," She said quietly. "First time it happened was in this room." She cringed, but picked up the very familiar broom, one Tom Riddle had once kept on display, "But yeah, I mean look around. I'm just a girl, he got all this."

"I'm going to need a wagon," Bill said, shaking his head in amazement. But when his sister came back to his side, he wrapped an arm around her tightly.

"It was something primal." Ginny finished, her voice low and monotone. "Something an animal would do. A primitive man. An uncivilized one. Taking the enemy's girl, and all that rubbish," She sniffed, rubbing at her eyes, "I don't think he wanted his followers to know just how…uncivilized he could be."

"Even though they basically did the same thing?" Bill noted, ironically. Ginny nodded.

"Exactly." She replied, "He always wanted to prove himself better than those who served him. All this," She looked around at the room, "Just the spoils of a boy who wanted the world to know that he was better than all of them."

"Huh, makes sense," Bill looked down at his sister, who was running her hands over Harry's broom thoughtfully. The tension was gone from her shoulders, though. The tension that had been there since they'd stepped into the house. "I forget, sometimes," He murmured, "Just how well you knew that monster."

"He was inside my head when I was eleven years old, Bill." Ginny whispered, "Kind of hard not to get to know a monster like that." Bill smirked.

"You," He said, tilting his head to kiss the top of hers, "Are my hero, you know that?" Ginny grinned up a her brother.

"Of course I am, I'm wonderful," She replied airily, turning to the door and tugging on his hand, "Ugh, now let's blow this joint. Nothing but a dusty treasure trove, now."

"Good plan," Bill nodded, letting her pull him out of the room, through the parlor, and out into the sunshine again. "I'm going to need help going through this anyway, there's no way the two of us could manage it, I'll send a team here tomorrow. Although," He went on, surveying the village below thoughtfully, "That would mean I still have the day off from my many manly and important duties!"

"As would I!" Ginny grinned, kicking a window shutter to splinters for good measure as she exited the house. She inspected the Firebolt in her hands, "You know, we've still got plenty of brooms tucked away at The Burrow. Fancy messaging Alicia and George for a good ol' fashioned Weasley Quidditch match?" Bill grinned back at her.

"Miss Weasley, I would love to," He told her grandly. Ginny cheered, bouncing on her heels. It hadn't been much of an outing. They'd gone in, had a conversation, looked around at all the dust, and then gone out again. But somehow, she felt as if a massive weight had been lifted off of her. She'd gone back to the center of her own personal hell, and found it molding, powerless, and gathering dust.

And that afternoon, Ginny Weasley was going to go flying.

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**Author's Notes: **Huzzah! Updates may take a break for a couple of weeks, as my husband is coming home on leave tomorrow, and I haven't seen him in almost six months. I plan on being very occupied. Don't worry though, I still love you all as well :D And I am still quite full of ideas!


	6. Season Poem

Yup, still here! And in Japan now! I had to get this one out now, as I'm sure I'll be a bit miffed at Severus for a few weeks after wednesday...enjoy some minor familial fluff!

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One by one,  
the days fall beside us  
like yellow leaves

~ Gregory & The Hawk

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Season Poem

By May

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If he were to be honest with the general populace (which he would not be), Severus Snape would admit that there were few things that truly and utterly annoyed him these days. Certainly, he put on a good show of being put off by everyone and everything. But in reality, rarely did situations come along that could genuinely put him in a dark mood for the rest of the day, or night, as it were. And tonight, he was finding himself in one of those situations. Nearly thirty years of teaching had made him immune to most student antics, but being awoken in the middle of the night due to some child's suicidal whim to go romping in the Forbidden Forest was another matter completely. Especially when that child was apparently from his own house.

Severus had been awoken in his chambers by a summons from Selune, and with much cursing and carrying on, enough to wake his usually deep-sleeping wife, he'd thrown on a robe and hurried off toward the Headmistress' office. He hissed the password through his teeth, waiting impatiently for the statue to turn before sweeping up the steps. The heavy wooden door swung open quickly to admit him, and he went straight for Selune's desk, hardly noticing the cluster of glum-looking school children seated in the corner.

"This had better be important. Someone best be missing a limb, having been trampled by a centaur. Or there had better at least be a secret underground cult of first-year-sacrificing Dark Lord remnants living right under my nose, in my very house." He grumbled, taking note of the barely-contained amusement on Selune's face. Her blue eyes were twinkling under her mane of curly, slightly graying red hair, but her expression quickly smoothed and turned stern when she nodded toward the students in question. Severus finally glanced their way, expecting to see the usual handful of green and silver clad trouble-makers from his house. He was not to be quite so lucky.

First there was Charlie Podmore, fifth year Hufflepuff, hardly able to meet his Professor's eyes, instead staring at the floor, his mop of brown hair hiding most of his face in that position. Beside Charlie, Rodrigue Nott staring up at the ceiling, his serious face glum, his Ravenclaw tie askew and his fair cheeks splattered with mud. The two best friends were such opposites in form, Charlie broad and tan and built like a brick wall, Rodrigue sinewy and slender, tall and pale, the Beater and the Seeker, respectively, but both wore twin expressions of gloom.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor by Rod's knees was, of course, Oubliette Lestrange, fifth year Slytherin, clearly having been dragged out in her pajamas, her long brown hair tangled with twigs and leaves, her face also worried. Charisse Zabini was next, the only one looking unconcerned, studying her nails and playing with her hair. She was the only usual trouble-maker of the whole lot of them, one Severus would have expected to see. Merlin knew she'd lost their house enough points that school year alone. But she didn't seem to be the ring-leader of this particular operation. No, that title apparently belonged to the calm blonde girl sitting at the end of the line, meeting his eye steadily. Fourth year Ravenclaw, Rodmilla Nott.

"…And not a Gryffindor among you for me to shout at." Severus said at last, currently at a loss for anything else. Ever the cheeky one, Charisse Zabini shot her Head of House a simpering little smirk.

"Apparently, Ronald Weasley could not be reached, as he's already serving detention for that incident with the toads. Ouch!" The girl grumbled, rubbing her side where Oubliette had jabbed her with her elbow. The eldest Lestrange was not amused, glaring at her housemate fiercely.

"Enough." Severus said sternly, fixing both girls with a harsh glare. "As you two are the only ones present from my house, you will enjoy the singular pleasure of official owls to your parents, along with whatever other punishment the Headmistress and I see fit." Groans from both. Severus smirked. That was one of the many perks of teaching while no longer under the guise of double agent: he could punish the children of his former peers again, instead of being forced to coddle the brats. But this pleasure was short-lived. His gaze returned to Rodmilla, and his voice dropped lower. "What. Happened?"

"It's my fault," Rodrigue piped up, as usual. Severus shut his eyes, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. "I shouldn't have gone along with it, I should have told her it was a bad idea…"

"Yes, you should have, but that is not what I asked." Severus cut him short, sharply. Of course Rodrigue had not talked his twin sister out of whatever mad scheme she'd gotten into her head, though he was always more than willing to take the blame. Once her best friend Oubliette was involved, Rod would go along with anything, hair-brained or life-threatening though it be. "I asked your sister. What happened?"

"…I needed specimens." Milla responded, calmly. Her stepfather opened his eyes, fixed them upon her, eyebrows furrowing. Rodmilla went on, hands folded in her lap, the picture of composure despite the leaves in her long hair, "For my Herbology project. I required live skeever slugs, and they only come out after dark."

There was a long pause, full of nervously shifting children and Selune's half-contained snickering. Severus stared at his stepdaughter long and hard. Lesser students had melted into puddles of shame and fear under that stare. As for Rodmilla, she'd been privy to it since before she could speak, and was thus mostly immune. This did not stop her from feeling intensely ashamed, of course. Finally, Severus spoke. "Your Herbology project?" Milla nodded, "Tell me, Ms. Nott, since when did Professor Longbottom begin assigning his students projects which required them to break curfew?"

Rodmilla had to look down then, her cheeks reddening. "Never," She whispered, but went on quickly, her voice gathering momentum as she did and her brave face dropping, "We have dried skeever slugs in the greenhouses, but my research shows that live ones produce such better results in the dittany plants I am growing, in turn yielding a far better essence, which in turn will benefit all of us when we go to brew our final potions projects and oh father I'm sorry!"

Her outburst gave Severus yet another reason to pause in astonishment. Certainly, such reckless ventures for the good of her and her friends' marks was nothing new from Rodmilla, though this was the first time she'd actually broken curfew. This was also the first time in her life that she'd ever called him 'Father'.

To others, he was introduced as her stepfather. In school, he was Sir, or Professor. At home, he was also Sir. It was not because they feared his reaction to a more personal title, they had grown up with his chilly façade and were unaffected by it, at least at home. Indeed, their sister Claudette, a year younger and possessing much more of her mother's ethereal spirit, called him every form of title there was, from Father to Padre. The twins had always been more reserved, though. Severus knew it was because, dim though the memories were, both of them could just barely remember the man who'd been their biological father, while their younger sister could not.

Presently, Rodmilla cleared her throat and looked back down at her lap, hands folded tightly. Severus took a deep breath, not daring to glance behind him because he knew that if he did, the headmistress would not be able to contain her delight. Instead he surveyed the lot of them again, "And I take it you were all roped in to this plot as well?"

"Milla needed the extra eyes," Charlie nodded, his voice quiet, chastised. Severus fixed the young man with a sharp, withering glare. The boy was almost as much of a fool for his stepdaughter as Rodrigue was for Oubliette Lestrange. That much had stayed the same throughout the years, at least.

"Well then." Severus grumbled, "Fifty points from each of you. Detention for Ms. Lestrange and Ms. Zabini will be served this Saturday, cleaning out my first year cauldrons." The girls both groaned, loudly. "As for you three," He looked at Charlie, Rodrigue, and Rodmilla in turn, "I leave detention up to your heads of house. Also," He spoke to the twins directly, "Pending a conversation with your mother, you are denied the upcoming trip to Hogsmeade." He did not miss the rather disappointed glance that Oubliette and Rodrigue shared. Rodmilla only nodded, accepting this with nothing more than a glum demeanor.

Selune finally spoke then, clearing her throat loudly beforehand, "I'll inform both Professor Longbottom and Professor Flitwick at breakfast in the morning," She told the lot of them, nodding toward the door. "You may all return to your respective common rooms." There was a chorus of 'yes professor' as the five teenagers shuffled out the door, Rodmilla glancing back at her stepfather once, before following the rest. He saw in that glance all that she wanted him to. She was sorry. She had only meant to up her marks, and help her friends do the same. He nodded to her once, before the door shut behind her. He understood. He still had to punish her. He was actually rather proud of her.

"Is that a smile I see, Severus Snape?" Headmistress Sinistra inquired, the delighted grin she'd kept in check all evening now free to dance all over her face. Severus frowned, turning back to her.

"Absolutely not." He said sharply, sneering. A pause. And then he sighed, reaching up to rub his eyes, one corner of his mouth turning upwards. "She is terribly bright, isn't she?"

"Terribly," Selune agreed, resting her hands on her desk, "Her brother is as well, but he's not quite so reckless about it, now is he?"

"Nope, very careful, thoughtful, that boy," Severus rubbed his chin, "She called me father."

"I take it this is a new development?" Selune's grin widened. Severus would not give her the satisfaction of seeing the same event going on upon his own face, and thus kept his eyes on the closed door.

"Indeed."

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**Author's Notes:** Reviews make Amy happy :D


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